Miss Lizzy's Legacy (17 page)

“Hank told me. He was at the gas station when you passed through town.” He stepped closer and hunkered down beside her. Scuffed boots, a short column of starched denim, the always present black duster and Stetson hat. Her heart cried out to him, but she kept her lips pressed firmly together, knowing that whatever was offered, would have to come from him. She watched him pick up a blade of dead grass from the ground and silently shred it.

He lifted his head and squinted at the sun. “I'm sorry about your great-grandfather.”

“Did Hank tell you about that, as well?”

“No. Henry, the mason who did the work on the stone for you, was in the Blue Bell last night. He told me.”

“Word travels fast.”

Judd shrugged. “Small town.” He opened his hand and let the wind have the shredded grass. “Will you be staying long?”

“Just for the day,” she said, knotting her hands into fists to keep from reaching out to him. “I have some business to take care of, then I'll be going back home.”

“Oh.” He sat a moment, staring at the ground, then picked up another blade and rolled it between the tips of his fingers. “The Historical Society's fund-raiser is tonight over at the Masonic Temple. If you decide to stick around, I could get you a ticket.”

Callie turned to look at him, angered that he wouldn't address the issue directly. “Are you asking me to stay?”

For the first time since he'd approached her, he turned his head and looked at her full in the face. He knew what she wanted. The fact that he couldn't give her that cut him like nothing else had before. Impatiently, he tossed the grass blade to the ground, pushed his hands against his knees and rose. “I guess I better be going.”

Callie ducked her head and swallowed back her grief. “Yes, I guess you'd better,” she murmured.

* * *

“Molly?”

Startled, Molly whirled. A smile bloomed on her face as she hurried to the front door of the Harvey Olds House Museum. “Callie!” She grabbed Callie's hands in hers, then dropped them to gather her in her arms. “Oh, my, but it's good to see you.”

She stepped back, holding Callie at arm's length, smiling like the sun had just come out after a long rain. “Have you seen Judd?”

Callie ducked her head to hide the trace of tears. “Yes, at the cemetery.”

“At the cemetery?” Molly asked in surprise.

“My great-grandfather died. I brought his ashes to spread on Miss Lizzy's grave.”

Molly drew Callie into her arms again. “I'm so sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”

Callie sniffed, and Molly pulled a tissue from her pocket and pressed it to her hand, then led her into the parlor.

After sitting down on the settee, Callie shrugged her purse from her shoulder and dug into its depths. “I have your key.” She passed the key to the whorehouse to Molly. “I want to thank you for allowing me to use the building.”

“My pleasure, dear.”

“And I was wondering...” Callie glanced up and her eyes filled with tears again. “If you don't mind, could I have Miss Lizzy's trunks that are stored up there?”

“Why, certainly! They're yours for the taking.”

“I don't have room in my car to take them home with me today, but—”

“Home? You mean you're leaving so soon?”

“Yes. There's no reason for me to stay.”

Molly shifted from the rocker to the sofa and drew Callie's hand into hers. “Oh, Callie. I had so hoped.”

Callie nodded, blinded by tears. “Me, too.”

“He loves you. You know that.”

“Yes, I know. And I love him.”

Molly's heart went out to Callie, for she knew how stubborn her son could be. “Why don't you stay?” she suggested hopefully. “Just for the night. You can go to the concert and drive home tomorrow.”

Though tempted, Callie shook her head. “No. Really, I think it's best if I go now.”

Molly pulled a strip of paper from her pocket and pressed it into Callie's hand. Closing Callie's fingers around it, she offered her a smile. “Here's a ticket. Just in case you change your mind.”

* * *

By the time Callie left Guthrie, darkness had veiled the town in black velvet, the perfect backdrop for the red, green and white Christmas lights adorning the lampposts and lining the merchant's windows. She rolled down her window just enough to let the carolers' voices fill her car with the sounds of Christmas. Memories of her midnight buggy ride with Judd swept over her.

She knew he was somewhere near. Probably less than three blocks away at the Blue Bell. A part of her wanted to go to him, to talk to him, to try to persuade him to give their love a chance. The other part, the part that owned her pride, wouldn't allow it.

It took every bit of strength she had to keep driving down Division Street toward the interstate that would take her back to Dallas...and away from Judd. Dulled by her sadness, she took the exit to I-35.

Gradually she became aware of the number of headlights streaking past her, headed in the opposite direction. It took her a minute to figure out that they were all headed for Guthrie and the Historical Society's fund-raiser and an opportunity to see Casey Hibbard perform in person.

Tempted, she glanced at the ticket she'd tossed to the passenger seat, then tore her gaze away, tightening her hands on the steering wheel. No, she told herself. Seeing Judd again would only postpone and intensify the pain of letting go.

J
udd didn't have time to think about Callie leaving or what a fool he was for letting her go—or rather he didn't allow himself the time. There was a stage to set up, equipment to move, a show to put on. There would be time enough for regrets later...a lifetime of it.

When he walked into the auditorium of the Masonic Temple, there were a few minutes of awkwardness as he'd expected. He knew all of Casey's band members and most of her crew—having worked with them all on more than one occasion over the years. Although they were all friendly, they tiptoed around him. Not that he blamed them. He'd left Nashville without a word to anyone, and the stories that had floated around after his departure were anything but flattering. Everything from “he'd been committed to an insane asylum” to “he had skipped the country.” He hadn't bothered to deny any of them.

Although the crew members talked and joked while they worked, no one mentioned his trial or his disappearance from Nashville and the music scene. At least no one did until Casey showed up.

But when she entered the auditorium and saw him up on the stage, she let out a whoop that stopped everyone dead in their tracks.

“Well, if it isn't Judd Barker, alive and in person!” she yelled. “Heck, I thought you were either dead or locked up in some nuthouse.” She stood with the length of the auditorium between them as if poised for a fight.

There was a stretch of silence so tense a tightrope walker could've walked it while everyone waited for Judd's reaction. His eyes narrowed in barely controlled anger as he was confronted with one more thing he'd lost...a friend.

When he'd left Nashville, he'd left behind more than just the reporters and a career. He'd left friends—people like Casey who'd shared his interests, his love for music. He couldn't blame any of them for abandoning him in his hour of need, for they'd all tried to offer their support. He was the one who had never returned any of their calls or letters. He was the one who had shut them out of his life along with the memories.

Casey continued to stand in the narrow aisle, her hands fisted on a waist a man could span between the width of his hands. Her stubborn stance told Judd she wasn't going to allow him to ignore her any longer.

A grin began to grow inside him. Leave it to Casey, he thought with a shake of his head, little bit of a woman that she was, to bring him to his knees.

“Judd Barker dead?” he responded lazily, crossing to the edge of the stage. “He's too ornery to die. But crazy?” He hopped down from the stage and strolled up the aisle toward Casey. “Now, that's still up for debate.”

He stopped in front of her, mirroring her posture—hands on hips, eyes narrowed, chin tilted at a defiant angle. The grin she'd spawned within him grew until it erupted, curving at his lips and sparkling in his eyes.

Casey tossed back her head and laughed, that mane of red hair of hers flying. The tension in the room eased as crew members breathed a collective sigh of relief, then one by one went back to their work, leaving Casey and Judd alone to talk about old times.

* * *

At the first strummed chord from the lead guitarist, the audience went wild. By the time the fiddler joined in, toes were tapping, hands clapping and hips moving to the country beat. Their enthusiasm pumped through Judd's veins. He loved a good show, loved the music, the audience; even fed off them when it had been him up on the stage. His fingers knotted in the stage curtains. God, how he missed it.

But this is Casey's show, he told himself, not mine. His job here was merely that of a member of the stage crew, making sure the lights, the sound system and the special effects for the show all worked without a glitch.

The band was doing their job, warming up the audience for Casey's appearance. Judging by the crowd's response, they didn't need much encouragement. Judd saw Casey weaving her way through the tangle of backstage crew and snakes of electrical cables. That trademark smile of hers flashed as she teased with the crew members, letting off a little of the nervous energy that every performer carried with them to the stage.

Judd felt a stab of envy, even a little regret, that it was her going on stage and not him. Shaking off the feelings, he held out the cordless microphone and forced a smile. “Ready?”

“You bet,” she replied, curling her fingers around the mike. “Sure you won't join me?”

Judd shook his head. “Not this time.” He guided her to the back of the stage, clearing a way through the black drapes that were part of the set. After helping her up to the top of a platform, he shot her a wink. “Have a good time.”

“Always,” she murmured, her concentration already focused on the choreography and the music as she awaited her cue.

* * *

Callie sank into the empty front-row seat next to Judd's mother, her breathing ragged, her heart thudding. She'd gotten as far as Norman, Oklahoma, before she'd convinced herself that Lizzy Bodean wasn't the only member of the Sawyer family with courage enough to withstand a little opposition. When she'd decided that, she'd thrown her pride out the window and caution to the wind, and headed back for Guthrie and one more chance with Judd.

Seeing Callie, Molly immediately reached for her hand and pressed a shoulder to hers in a gesture of support. “I'm glad you're here,” she whispered. Before she could say more, the lights in the auditorium faded and the black curtain on the stage turned translucent to reveal the members of the band split by a staircase that climbed into the darkness. The music started softly, building in tempo and volume, while colored lights bled from one rich hue to the next. Smoke rose from the top of the stairs and lights pumped up until the silhouette of a woman appeared. A spotlight hit her and she lifted her head. Casey Hibbard. Callie fell under her spell.

* * *

With the performance drawing to an end, Judd edged his way to stand behind the backdrop of curtains. From his secluded position, he watched Casey move across the stage as she worked the audience, making sure that everyone felt a part of the show. He knew the energy required in putting on a concert like this and marveled at how easy Casey made it look. She was the ultimate entertainer, knowing how to work an audience, how to pull every bit of emotion from them. In return, she gave them one hell of a show.

His gaze drifted across the auditorium from the floor to the highest balcony, noting that the concert was a sellout. The funds raised would enable the Historical Society to progress even more quickly with their plans for Guthrie's restoration. In so doing, they would capitalize on some of Oklahoma's tourist trade, creating jobs for Guthrie residents and attracting new business to the area. That he was a part of that effort filled him with pride, for it was one more step in fulfilling his debt to his hometown.

He turned his gaze to the front row reserved for members of the restoration group who were responsible for tonight's success. Myrna, Gertie, Eddy, his mother. They'd all worked hard to put together this fund-raiser. Even more would be required of them now to put the funds to good use. But what a difference it would make for Guthrie.

Applause erupted as the song ended, interrupting his thoughts. He chuckled when he saw his mother stick her fingers between her teeth and let out a shrill whistle. He'd seen her do that very thing when he'd been on the stage. She'd been so proud of him, so supportive while he'd struggled his way to the top of the country charts. She'd never once condemned him or doubted him, she'd just offered her unqualified love. While he continued to stare at her, regret swelling in his chest for all the mud that had been slung on their name, Molly turned in her seat and grinned at the woman next to her. Judd's heart stopped when he saw the woman's face.

Callie.

“Oh, God,” he whispered under his breath. Before he could decide to run or stand, Casey was beside him, breathing hard and blotting the perspiration from her face. “Whew!” she sighed. “What a crowd!”

His heart felt as if it were being ripped in two, yet Judd kept his emotions from showing as he nodded toward the audience. They were on their feet, clapping wildly and shouting for more. “I think they want to hear another one.”

Casey beamed. “My pleasure.”

Before Judd knew what was happening, she had him by the hand and had lifted the mike. “Look who I found hiding backstage,” she called to the audience as she dragged him back on stage with her. If possible, the applause and shouting rose in intensity.

“How would y'all like Judd and me to sing one together?”

The crowd went crazy, stamping their feet and shouting.

Judd tugged at his hand. “No, Casey. I can't.”

She shook her head, keeping her gaze on him as she turned the mike to her mouth. “I can't believe this, but I think he's going to need some persuading.” She cut a conspiratorial look at the audience. “Can you help me out?”

The cry started from somewhere in the back and rolled forward, building to a deafening roar. “We want Judd! We want Judd!”

Fear coiled in his stomach as he looked out at the audience. He couldn't sing. Not now. Not ever.

But then he saw Callie, sitting beside his mother, her hands pressed against her lips, her eyes wide and filled with hope. She'd said she loved him, and he believed her. She'd also said she wouldn't live in the prison he'd created for himself. He believed that, as well. He was getting a little tired of those walls himself.

Callie wanted it all or nothing. As he looked at her, he knew he was prepared to give her everything for one more chance at her heart. Praying that his offer didn't come too late, he swallowed hard and turned to Casey, giving her a tight nod.

Laughing, Casey waved a hand in the air to quiet down the crowd. “I believe we've talked him into it.” She turned to the band. “How about ‘Islands In The Stream'?”

A few chords were strummed while a band member passed Judd a mike. He accepted it reluctantly, testing its weight in his hand as he let the familiar equipment work its own form of comfort.

The first chords of the lead-in pulsed around him, and Judd's mouth went dry. He feared that when he opened his mouth to sing, not a sound would come out. He glanced at Callie and their gazes touched and meshed. The love in her eyes and her belief in him electrified him with a sense of power he hadn't experienced in over a year. He closed his eyes and let the music take him.

“Baby, when I met you there was peace unknown

I set out to get you with a fine tooth comb

I was soft inside, there was something going on”

His words were shaky at first, but grew in strength and emotion as the crowd welcomed him back.

Casey stepped next to him, twining an arm at his waist as she joined her voice with his.

“You do something to me that I can't explain.

Hold me closer and I feel no pain...”

A smile slowly built on Judd's face as he sang the words, letting the lyrics and the music free him from the memories and the fears. The song might have been written especially for him, they depicted his feelings for Callie so well. She did something to him that he couldn't explain, and it was while in her arms that he felt no pain.

At the end of the song, Casey threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug, laughing. The crowd went wild, clapping and stamping, demanding more. With a wink, Casey strolled past him, saying, “You're on your own now, cowboy.”

On his own? Not anymore, Judd told himself. Not if Callie had meant what she'd said.

He picked up a guitar and dragged a stool to the center of the stage. Pulling the guitar across his lap, he strummed a few chords, his head tipped to the frets.

At the sound of the melody, shivers crawled up Callie's spine. It was the song she'd heard him play at the Blue Bell and again at his house, and though she recognized the melody, she'd never heard the lyrics.

One of the stage crew ran on stage to set a microphone in front of him and adjusted the height, then disappeared from sight. Judd hummed a few bars, then opened his mouth and let the words flow from his heart.

Tears burned Callie's throat and behind her eyes. She sat with her fingers pressed against her lips and listened as Judd musically told the story of what he'd been through, sharing the emotions in such a way, she felt his anger, his disillusionment and his shame as if it were her own. By the time he sang the last chorus, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

“This prison it holds me, built

^one lonely brick at a time

No more sunshine, no more laughter

Just the walls of my prison

And the ashes once my dreams...”

After the last chord faded, Judd hooked his bootheel over the stool's rung and propped the guitar on one knee. He lifted his head and looked out over the audience. No one applauded. No one cheered. They all looked at him, watching expectantly, as if they somehow knew there was more of the story to come.

“All of you know about the accusations and the charges filed against me,” he said, his voice amplified by the microphone, but low and uncertain. “And even though the judge issued a verdict of not guilty, there are those who still believe I'm guilty.” A cry of denial rose from the audience. Judd held out a hand to quiet them and sadly shook his head. “I've heard all the stories. Some say I bought my freedom by paying off the judge and jury. Others think I had a nervous breakdown after the trial and ended up in some insane asylum weaving baskets. The truth is...I came home.

“The song I just sang, I wrote after the trial. It was a hellish time in my life, something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. The one thing that kept me going during all of it was knowing that when it was over, when my innocence was proven, I could come home.

“Unfortunately, just having a judge proclaim me innocent didn't seem enough. The media continued to hound me, building suppositions on half facts, sniffing around for a story that just wasn't there. So, even though I'd come home, I realized that I hadn't truly escaped it all. I'd built my own prison, one lonely brick at a time, by avoiding talking about what happened. A friend of mine—” He stopped, frowned, then shook his head, chuckling. “Hell, she's more than a friend.” He stood and set the guitar aside.